A poem, Joe's childhood home
Losers should never win
A burning house to most people brings feelings of terror and unhappy tears
To this teen-age boy Joe
It brought uncontrollable cheer
A house where he witnessed a too familiar scary scene
Dad hitting Mom
Waking him from a young man's peaceful dream
Late at night, laying in darkness, afraid to turn on the light
Over and over, the chilling feeling
Of deeply rooted fright
The visible bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table suddenly loomed so tall
His Mother crying
Afraid and looking so very small
Her face bruised, her eyes swollen and black
Him standing above her, fists clinched
No warning, another brutal attack
How many times had he been arrested, only to be set free
Returning to hurt again
Showing no mercy
Joe waited patiently, knowing the monster would soon pass out
He had a plan. He would act this time
With a renewed unwavering doubt
He would kill his Father. He could no longer stand the pain in his Mother's eyes
He didn't know exactly how he would do this evil deed
His only thought
Was to relieve this long embedded need
The smell of smoke woke him, seeing his Mother frantically dialing nine one one
He grabbed her hand, yelling,
" Come on Mama, we have to get out, RUN"
He looked in the bedroom where his Father lay
The room was engulfed in flames
There he would forever stay
Joe watched his childhood home literally burn to the ground
He felt no remorse
As his neighbors gathered around
He knew he and his Mother were finally set free
His Mother's pain, his nightmares
Both ended by a Master key
Now hopefully the inward healing will begin
With the gospel truth
Losers should never win.
